Bedroom Hymns
by Mlee.Write
Summary: How I think My Blue Heaven should have ended.


Title: Bedroom Hymns

Author: Mlee Write

Rating: T/M for sexual situations

Spoilers: Through 6 x 09

Notes: Title and lyrics from the song by Florence + the Machine

**This Is As Good A Place To Fall As Any**

Patrick Jane had always found salvation from women. It was the loving tenderness of a good woman that had reformed him once, turning a womanizing, egomaniacal conman into a…well, monogamous, egomaniacal conman. It had been the kind patience of Sophie Miller that pulled him back from the brink of suicide. And when he'd been broken and without purpose, a floundering shell of his former self, it had been Teresa Lisbon who, with gentle strength, had set him right again.

If he was being honest—and he rarely was—then he would acknowledge the fact that he needed a good woman in his life. Without one he devolved into an aimless and sometimes cruel man.

In retrospect, Jane thought this might have been why he latched on to Kim when she'd shown up on his island. He'd been two years without the firm guidance (and endless tolerance) of Teresa Lisbon. Even in his tireless, self-destructive quest for vengeance, she'd shown him he could be something better. He'd helped people with her. Miles apart and with spotty communication at best, he'd felt himself crumble.

He could only write Lisbon and hope she received his letters. It was too risky to leave a forwarding address, and so for twenty-four months he'd imagined her replies, but never received them. It left him with an ache in his chest that couldn't be soothed.

He needed Lisbon's disapproving sigh to keep him (moderately) in line. He needed her gentle prodding to keep him from backsliding completely into sloth and self-pity.

He slept a lot. Sometimes he read. Mostly he felt sorry for himself.

So when Kim showed up, a woman clearly in charge (if a little lost herself) he'd clung to the possibility that she could be the direction he was yearning for. She wasn't Lisbon, and he swallowed back guilt that tasted like bile, but maybe she was the next chapter in his life. Angela. Sophie. Teresa. Kim.

He'd taken off his wedding ring and felt sick—panic clawing at his gut and climbing up his throat. He drank too much to force it back down, the warm alcohol-induced peace making him sloppy and stupid. The next morning he'd woken up with aching balls and a black hole in his memory, and he'd felt a full-fledged panic attack burst from his chest, fluttering like the wings of a startled bird. The idea that he might have slept with an attractive woman shouldn't have been terrifying.

But it was.

That should have been his first clue.

He'd felt a little sad, and a little lonely that Kim was leaving, but mostly he felt relieved.

Of course, when the opportunity to go back home had been presented to him he promptly forgot all about the other woman. Teresa Lisbon was waiting for him at the other end like a shiny present on Christmas morning. He'd made Lisbon the first of his demands, his non-negotiable. He'd been stupid and eager and told Abbott the one thing he wasn't willing to live without.

He didn't bother bluffing.

He'd revealed his weakness and he didn't care.

**We'll Build Our Altar Here**

When Cho called to tell her that she was needed at the FBI field office in Austin, Texas, the first thing Teresa asked was, "Is Jane dead? Is he hurt?"

The answer was no and nothing else. Part of her was angry at Cho for moving on so easily while the rest of them (well, while she) struggled a little bit. She had expected more from him, a phone call, the occasional email.

It was her fault, she knew. She'd taken her colleagues and made them her family. She couldn't expect those relationships to last. People moved on—they got new jobs, they moved, they started families of their own. She would have to promote them eventually, if nothing else.

In her mind's eye, even as the team changed, she and Jane had remained, breaking in the new kids. He'd been her constant. Where was he going to go? 

Venezuela, apparently.

Every time she got a letter she'd feel lighter, happier. Jane hadn't forgotten her. He _missed_ her. They might be apart, but he'd never left. Not really.

Her stomach had been in knots as she sat in that too cool conference room, waiting for news of Jane. When the door opened she'd expected to see him in chains or worse. Instead he was just standing there, alone, rumpled and scruffy and beaming a white, crooked smile at her.

She'd wanted to cry but she said something stupid about his beard and the letters, and then he'd hugged her. Really hugged her—not the kind where people quickly touch, their hips and buttocks held back as if afraid their thighs and groins might brush. No, he hugged her unselfconsciously, his body pressed tight to her, invading all of her personal space with the air of someone who had been there a million times before.

Which he hadn't. But it felt good. Warm.

She'd pulled back before things could get weird, before she dug her fingers into his jacket and refused to let go.

She still had no idea what was going on.

**Make Me Your Maria**

Jane's epiphany came in a split-second. One moment he was basking in relief at seeing Lisbon, hugging her again. The next he was smelling her hair and acknowledging the burgeoning feeling in his gut.

He didn't need the love of a strong woman to be happy.

He needed Teresa Lisbon. Just her.

He loved her.

He was in love with her.

Just like that, a whiff of cinnamon hair and the press of her petite body against him, and the realization hit him like a lightning strike. He was miserable and lost because he didn't have _her_. He had loved Angela and she'd made him a better man once. Sophie had put him to rights because she was a doctor and that was her job. And Lisbon had picked him up, dusted him off, and given him a purpose. She'd given him a reason to live besides his rage. She lit a candle inside a dark and hollow place, and she made him smile.

Kristina. Eric. Lorelei. Kim. His panic at getting close to them hadn't been out of guilt or because he wasn't ready to move on. It had been because they weren't _her._

The right person had been standing there all along, putting up with his shit for years, and telling him he was worthy of being loved.

Two years apart and he felt just as comfortable with Lisbon as the day they left. He would have kept hugging her except she pulled back and he was too stunned to hold on.

He was in love with her.

For a moment he couldn't speak. Even when Abbott came in and started posturing, he just stared at her because _he was in love with her_. Even when Kim showed up he felt a ripple of irritation at being played and little more.

And when Abbott had told him working with Lisbon was out of the question, he'd happily gone to his detention suite because _not_ being with her wasn't an option, and he wasn't going to budge.

**I'm Already On My Knees**

He was irritating as shit, showing up in Texas like nothing was wrong, then getting himself thrown into a federal detention center. She had him back for a whole ten minutes before he was cuffed and whisked away.

It felt like a punch in the gut.

And who in the hell was _Kim_?

Typical Jane, thinking he had all the answers and creating a mess for her to clean up. It took a few weeks, but clean it up she did.

It wasn't easy getting them to agree to some of his demands (an airstream trailer and unlimited tea, really, Jane?) but eventually they capitulated on the pardon. Jane might think he was the master manipulator, but she still had her contacts, and she'd had a decade in management at state-level law enforcement. She wasn't a stranger to politics.

And in the end, with the Blake Association tearing apart California's judicial system, who was to say that the evidence linking Jane to McAllister's murder hadn't been planted? Who was to say that the FBI wasn't harboring a grudge against the man who revealed that Reed Smith and a bevy of other agents were dirty?

The extremely photogenic and sympathetic St. Teresa had been booked on Anderson Cooper to discuss how a man who'd lost his wife and child to a serial killer had been framed for said killer's death in a sick example of law enforcement corruption.

The FBI had called two hours before the interview. She'd made her apologies to Mr. Cooper.

Now she was leaning against a rental car, sweating in the heat, waiting for Jane to come out of the federal prison he'd been sent to.

He wandered out of the gates wearing the same clothing he'd worn in (she doubted they'd been washed) and blinking in the sun.

He enveloped her in another hug when he saw her standing there.

"Thank you," he said.

"That was some mess, Jane," she scolded.

_Was he smelling her hair?_

"Thank you," he said again and held her more tightly.

"I got us a room at a motel down the way," she said, carefully untangling herself from his embrace. "I figured you could use a cup of tea and some clean clothes."

"And the opportunity to shower without twenty of my closest friends," he teased.

He beamed at her, and her stomach flip-flopped.

"I missed you again," he said.

**The Undone And the Divine**

The thing was, now that he knew he loved Teresa he felt strangely awkward about it. Clearly, even thought she'd rescued him (again) she'd had no similar epiphany. Which left him with a terrible anxiety that his feelings wouldn't reciprocated.

Which was unacceptable because he wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt.

He just sort of watched her like a gormless idiot while she drove and checked them into the motel. At one point he put his hand on her shoulder, touching the soft cotton of her tee-shirt, but she shied away.

He followed her down the hall, obedient and dumb, and when she handed him his room key he did the most ridiculous, stupid, ill-advised thing possible.

His brain supplied him with a dozen ways that he could slowly woo her, seduce her, until she couldn't help but love him.

Instead he just pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He almost attacked her, really, and it was the fact that she was totally surprised that saved him from a knee to the groin. Still, it wasn't a good kiss because she wasn't expecting it, and their lips mashed together a little painfully, and then she pressed her hands to his chest and pushed back.

"What the hell, Jane?" she demanded.

"I love you," he blurted out. Now that he thought about it he had been similarly lame and artless with Angela, which should been his second clue.

"Um," she said, awkwardly.

"I mean it," he said.

"Did something happen to you in prison?" she asked cautiously.

A man walked out of his room and glanced at them curiously, then headed for the elevator.

"Can we do this inside the room?" Jane asked.

She was still looking at him like he'd grown two heads, but she swiped her key card and let him follow her into the hotel room. The curtains were pulled against the late afternoon sun, and the room was cool and gray.

"So now explain why you haven't gone insane?" she said, a little cavalier.

Too cavalier, he thought. He could see the pulse throb in her neck.

He decided now would be an excellent time to invade her personal space. He gently put his hands on her hips and said, "I love you," for the second time.

He could see fear in her eyes, skittering doubt that broke his heart. "Jane…" she said slowly.

"Patrick," he told her. "You can call me Patrick."

"Is this some sort of game?" she asked.

So he kissed her again, and this time she let him. She didn't really kiss him back, but she let him. And he kissed her for a long time, sweet and slow, keeping his hands safely on her hips, on the harsh denim of her jeans. When her pulled back her eyes were dark and wide, and he said, "Let me show you."

**This Is His Body, This Is His Love**

Sometimes, usually in bed, Teresa would stare at the ceiling and wonder what it would be like to be with Jane. She imagined that if he ever told her he loved her it would be a casual aside, and then he'd act like she should have known all along.

She did not expect a heartfelt confession in the hallway of a LaQuinta.

She also didn't expect him to pick her up and carry her to the bed.

He was kissing her senseless, all while his hands were pushing up her tee shirt, just a little, skimming the skin of her stomach. She felt desire and the thrill of being touched for the first time by a new lover burn under her flesh.

She was already throbbing.

A bubble of anxiety rose up in her throat and before she could stop it, she pulled her lips away and said, "Is this a joke or a con or a scheme?"

"I have an erection and you're asking me that?" he teased.

"I mean it," she snapped.

She saw a little hurt in his eyes when she asked, but she had to know. She wasn't willing to be part of a ploy that would leave her humiliated and heartbroken later.

He looked her right in the eye and said, "No." Then he removed his wedding band and pressed it into her hand. The ring was hot.

She felt her throat tighten and tears sting her eyes. "Missed me that much?"

"I didn't realize how much until you weren't there," he admitted. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, taking the moisture with them.

"I missed you too. I read your letters every day," she confessed. "I kept every one."

"I wanted to hear from you so badly," he admitted. "I thought about sending you a plane ticket a million times."

She sniffed a little and then he said, "Can we talk about my erection again?" and she burst out laughing without meaning to.

Then he was kissing her again, all slow, liquid heat and the promise of things to come. His hands skimmed her waist, her back, her hips. She curled her fingers into his hair, relishing the feel of his beard against her cheeks, wondering what it would feel like against her breasts, her belly, her thighs.

His fingers were playing with the snap of her jeans and she lifted her hips to him. As he slowly, torturously unzipped them she had several thoughts flash through her brain in a panicked sequence.

Had she shaved her legs?

Did she remember to take her pill this morning?

What underwear was she wearing? 

She hadn't expected to spend the day in bed with _anyone_ let alone Jane who noticed everything.

"I, um." She pushed at him, but he was kissing her neck now, teeth grazing her skin. "I need a minute to, um…"

He had her legs pinned to the bed and she had to shove him a little. He rolled back and looked at her, eyes sleepy and dark green. "Hmm?"

"A minute," she said, and scurried for the bathroom.

She shut the door and took a breath, and set the wedding band in the glass next to the sink so it wouldn't get lost. Then she lunged for her makeup case, scattering eye shadow and lip liner everywhere. She pulled out her packet of birth control pills and counted how many had been popped from the little blister packs and sighed in relief. If this was going to happen, it was going to happen without an awkward condom run.

Then she quickly unzipped her jeans, took note of her panties and thought, screw it and just took her jeans off entirely. Her legs were pretty well shaved. She wasn't going to take the time to do a stellar job.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, debated brushing her teeth. It was then that she realized that Jane had somehow, magically, unhooked her bra in back. _Really? _When had he done that? It brought new meaning to sleight of hand.

She pulled it off, sliding it out the sleeve of her tee shirt and dropping it to the floor.

She could hear Jane moving around the room, and she was afraid he might be panicking and leaving, so she opened the door and went to confront him.

He was sprawled out on the bed, his shirt and shoes gone, wearing just his slacks. He pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her, and she practically felt the tug of his gaze right down to her crotch.

"Um," she said again.

**Sweating Our Confessions**

Teresa was wearing a pair of little pink panties with black polka dots and a black bow along the top. They were tiny little panties, and they were killing him. She was also wearing a white tee-shirt and no bra, and he could see her nipples clearly outlined in the half light.

When she had retreated to the bathroom he'd had a moment of performance anxiety—not that he was having any, uh, blood flow issues. He'd been celibate for over ten years—his particularly unmemorable night with Lorelei aside—and he had a minute where he wondered if he still knew what to do.

Then he saw those little pink panties and he nearly had a heart attack. Maybe he needed a refresher but he was damned well going to enjoy it.

She bit her lip and sauntered over to the bed, climbing over him, straddling him.

He reached up cupping her cheek, kissing her again even as the searing heat of her core settled over the crotch of his pants. He nearly hissed in pain. When she touched her tongue to his he forgot all about being nervous. He kissed her like he was dying, like these were last moments on earth.

His hands pushed her shirt over her head and took a moment to glance at her breasts—pale, perfect, wonderful—before he went back to kissing her. His hands had a mind of their own, stroking her milky flesh, finding the hardened tips of her nipples. He palmed and tweaked and teased, sometimes gentle, sometimes stinging a bit, all while he deepened their kiss. She rocked against him, her hips liquid and graceful. He was grateful for his pants, for those pink panties, because without them the stimulation would have been too much to bear.

He kissed her jaw, her neck. She didn't complain about the stubble, but moaned instead. She was grinding against him, their clothes keeping them from consummation. His mouth found her breast, then her nipple, and he flicked his tongue against her, relishing the taste of her skin. He sucked hard and she rocked against him faster, hips rolling, a keening moan escaping her throat.

It took him a moment to realize what had just happened.

She looked down at him, flushed and embarrassed.

"Really?" he asked, thrilled and incredibly turned on.

Her face reddened.

He had no idea why she was embarrassed. He grinned and kissed her again, taking the opportunity to shift positions. She was spread out beneath him, cradling him in the vee of her legs, her hips rising up to meet his.

He slipped her underwear down her legs, tossing them aside, then touched her, relishing the wet heat that he found. She made a sobbing sound and arched her back when he slid his fingers inside her. He stroked her, manipulated her flesh, watched her close her eyes and arch her neck, her breath coming in heavy pants.

He wanted to watch her like this forever.

"Mm, Jane?" she asked, her face contorted with pleasure. "Are you okay?"

"Hmm?"

"You're hyperventilating I think. I don't want you to pass out." She was teasing, but there was a hint of concern there.

He didn't want to pass out either. If he was unconscious, he couldn't look at her breasts.

"Can we skip the foreplay?" she asked, breathlessly, reaching for his pants.

"Oh God, yes," he replied. He groaned when she divested him of his slacks and grasped him in her hot, small hand. He hadn't bothered reclaiming his dirty underwear.

She stroked him, guided him to her. She said, "I'm on the pill," and it was good enough for him.

It wouldn't matter if she wasn't. He wanted babies with her. Today or a year from now, it didn't matter.

And when they came together she whispered, "I love you too."

**Such Selfish Prayers And I Can't Get Enough**

Later, when they were both exhausted and she was, honestly, just a little bit sore, Teresa lay sprawled out over Jane. Her head was pillowed on his chest, and her legs were tangled with his.

He was drawing patterns on her back with his fingertips.

"I shouldn't have paid for two rooms," she said sleepily.

"Meh. We can move to the other one. Then no one has to sleep in the wet spot," he said. He kissed her hair. "Is there tea here?"

"Sweet tea."

He made a face of disgust and she grinned at him. "I packed a box of English breakfast. It's in my suitcase."

"You're too good to me," he said sincerely, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

"This is really real," she whispered then. "Everything has changed."

"It's a new day," he confirmed. "And I want to spend it with you."

She found his other hand, draped across his stomach, and she entwined their fingers together. "I like that," she said.


End file.
